


Test the Chains

by Neebsandtatties



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Freeform, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Templar Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neebsandtatties/pseuds/Neebsandtatties
Summary: Evelyn flinches at his rage. “Cullen…I don’t understand. I thought-"He’s sorry. He’s so very sorry. But he can’t seem to shut himself up. The tirade continues, angry and hurtful as he cuts her off mid sentence. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?”~In which Cullen's resolve is tested by a Templar!Inquisitor who smells like Lyrium.





	Test the Chains

**Author's Note:**

> I started this last year and just got around to finishing it a few days ago. Basically I wanted to explore how Cullen and a Templar! inquisitor might have navigate their relationship with the issue of Lyrium hanging between them. I don't think that he'd dump her for it but I do like the idea that it creates strain on their relationship and that they have to really work to keep it going.

She smells of power. Of Lyrium. The scent lingers around her, tingles upon his tongue. She smells of power; like the lightning storm that had crashed over Skyhold naught but two nights ago.

The Maker is testing his conviction surely. It simply had to be a test. Why would the He send him a woman he could love, a woman who loved him back– only for her to take up the Templar shield and sword. 

Cullen watches, as he always does. He’s made a career out of being a good watcher. Leliana explains something to the Inquisitor on the map but he can barely hear his fellow advisor. Maker help him, but he can’t think of anything except running his fingers along Evelyn’s skin, pressing his nose into her hair and inhaling the scent of Lyrium. Leather creaks as if in agreement as his fingers tighten on the pommel of his sword. His control is waning today. The counting exercises aren’t helping anymore. They haven’t helped for over three days.

It’s a hunger.

That’s the only way he knows how to describe it. A thirst for Lyrium. A constant ache in his head, in his stomach, in his throat, in his heart.

Some days, he can function; command his men, do his job with little interference. He works with the Inquisition’s Templars daily so he is used to smelling Lyrium off of them. The hunger is always there of course, but if he tries hard enough, he can just about ignore it. Those are the good days, the better days. He’ll never forget of course, but he can…exist. He is in control of the addiction, not the other way around.

But today he can’t. And the day before, he couldn’t either. Or the day before that. He hasn’t felt in control since the Inquisitor came back with Ser and suddenly smelt like a thunderstorm. The withdrawal is worse than it’s ever been. He’s aware of every single ache in his body. There’s sweat on his skin; slick under the candle light. Even now he can feel it on his brow, pooling on his eyebrows. He’s certain sweat is about to drip right onto the map.

“- And the Commander will see to Kirkwall yes?”

The Inquisitors attention is suddenly on him, waiting his answer. Cullen clears his throat; a nervous habit he had yet to break. “Yes, of course,” he answers, proud of his steady tone. He was not entirely sure what he was even agreeing to. They could have been asking him to burn the city to the ground and he might not know.

Leliana’s finely sculpted eyebrow hitches up her forehead a fraction of an inch. She doesn't say anything however. She didn’t need to. She says everything in nothing at all.. _Were you even listening?_ her stare asks.

Cullen meets her cool, unwavering gaze. _Of course I was_ he thinks back.

Her expression twitches slightly and for a strange moment, he thinks she’s heard him. Maybe she can even see the hunger burning in his stomach. He knows he should be paying attention. His withdrawal is not an excuse not to be listening.

Meanwhile the Inquisitor – who is blessedly oblivious to their exchange– places three of his markers onto the map and positions them around Kirkwall. The scent seems to curls around her as she moves. Cullen wonders, with equal parts shame and thirst, if he would taste Lyrium on her lips if he were to kiss her. The treacherous thought has his fingers clenching again. “I would see the red Lyrium removed if the city has any chance to recover. Kirkwall has suffered more than enough,” she states firmly.

Cullen nods agreement. He owes the city an immeasurable debt for his negalence. “I’ll dispatch a continency of soldiers to assist Prince Vael’s efforts.”

“Good. Speak with Varric as well. He has people on the ground who have been trying to deal with the red Lyrium for months now. I’m sure they’d appreciate the extra support.” She pushes another map marker – a chantry crest - next to Kirkwall. “Between the three of us, Kirkwall should have a decent chance at recovery,” Evelyn says without looking up from the map. She wears her authority well; always so certain of herself and her decisions. He cannot help but be proud of her, even now.

But as she straightens up again, Cullen can see how much that costs her. There’s a weariness in her eyes that ages her beyond her years, hollows on her pale skin.

“Anything else I should know about?”

“Nothing as yet Inquisitor,” answers Josephine.

“Good. Then I suggest we stop there for the night. I’m sick of looking at this map.”

“Very well. Should you need me Inquisitor, I’ll be in the tower quarters,” Leliana says with a slight bow, her eyes glinting out from under her woollen hood as if she’s privy to something they aren’t. She probably is. She has more secrets than he has soldiers.

Next to him, Josephine bottles her ink well. “I think I will retire as well. It has been a…long day,” she said, her soothing tone weary.

The Inquisitor smiles, but it’s a hollow, worn expression. She looks how they all feel. Then, her gaze falls onto him. “Commander, I’d have a word with you before you go.”

Leliana and Josephine exchange a careful glance that he pretends he doesn’t see. “Of course,” he replies.

As his fellow advisor excuse themselves from the war room, he reaches up and finally wipes his brow. What a relief it is. He doesn’t look at the dampness on his gloves.

The inquisitor remains quiet until the door clicks onto its heavy latch. There was no escaping her now, and no distraction for his hunger. “You wished to speak with me Inquisitor?” he answers stiffly.

Evelyn’s brow wrinkles, her expression concerned. Maker he doesn’t deserve even a fraction of her worry, not with that crack in the sky bearing down on her. “Cullen,” she says softly, dropping his title. “Are you alright? You didn’t seem yourself.”

Cullen swallows, his throat tight. “Yes, I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth. He isn’t fine in the slightest. He is sick and sweaty and all he can think of is pressing his nose against her collarbone, running his fingers through her hair – inhaling the Lyrium like he needs it to breathe.

The Inquisitor is not convinced. He isn't surprised. Once, he could feign good health to her - when they were both still strangers who occasionally threw yearning glances at each other. Once, he could wave off his withdrawal symptoms as symptoms of stress – before she'd taken his heart on the battlements. “ Are you sure?” She asks. “Because you’ve been looking at me today like..well let's just say you've been off with me lately.”

His fingers clenched again. “I have a headache, nothing more.”

Evelyn looks at him, her eyes turning soft with worry. “It’s the Lyrium, isn’t it?” she asks quietly.

Another bead of sweat slides down his temple. Maker, he’s still terrible at lying to her. “It’s been…unusually bad,” he admits tightly. It’s been unusually bad for days now. “But nothing I’m incapable of handling."

The Inquisitor’s shoulders relax. “Cullen, you should have said something. We could have managed tonight without you if you’d been feeling so unwell” She closes the distance between them, perhaps to press a kiss to his temple or his nose that she seems to love so much. 

Cullen thinks about curling his fingers into her rich ginger hair, inhaling the thick scent of thunder. It takes him everything he has and more to put some distance between them. He won’t use her as his crutch. He’s better than it. _She’s_ better than that.

Evelyn halts abruptly, as if she had been punctured by an arrow. “Cullen? What’s going on?"

His heart hammers with panic, anxiety barely concealed. “Nothing, I’m quite alright.”

The inquisitor isn’t convinced. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” she continues, taking cautious step towards him as if he was a startled Halla. He finds he can’t step away again. He feels as if his legs have been paralysed. The scent of Lyrium stretches with her, and he can almost see the azure fingertips reaching for him. Cullen’s throat dries as he imagines the Lyrium sliding down his throat, dripping into his stomach, satisfying the hunger in his gut.

“Please?”

It is hard to think straight with that chantry sanctioned beast trapped in his chest. The hunger burns with her so close; the need for Lyrium mixing with the yearning for the Inquisitor. “I just...I just can’t….” Cullen palms a hand over his face. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m fine, really,” he says through gritted teeth.  
_Maker please_. He tears himself apart to keep it together for her. She can’t know.

Unknowing, Evelyn pushes back. “Come on Cullen, I might act a fool sometimes but I'm not completely stupid you know.”

“I never said that you were!” In his frustration, his words are edged with anger. The hunger howls in his ear; making his head pound harder, making his stomach swirl. He can’t seem to think straight, can’t see anything beyond the Lyrium. He hates it, hates that life. He never wants it back again.

Her posture shifts in response to his hostility, ready to do battle with him. She’s warrior through and through. “Really? Because you’re certainly treating me like I am; bare face lying to me like this. As if I can’t see how unwell you are,” she bites back but there’s hurt on her face.

"I told you I'm fine!"

"Cullen please, tell me what's wrong. Don't shut me out like this."

_Stop. Stop now._

Cullen wants to stop, he really does. He’s hurting her.

But he can’t. The hunger has turned savage because it cannot get what it wants. “It’s you!” His voice hikes up in anger and he can’t bring it back down. “You and that bloody Templar training.”

_Stop. Maker, please._

Evelyn flinches at his rage. “Cullen…I don’t understand. I thought-"

He’s sorry. He’s so very sorry. But he can’t seem to shut himself up. The tirade continues, angry and hurtful as he cuts her off mid sentence. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?” The question is unfair but he snarls it regardless.

"Any idea what's what like?"

Cullen turns away from her. "Makers breath you reek of Lyrium Evelyn. It's driving me to the brink of madness." He lets out a disdainful chuckle that sounds abhorrent even to his own ears. "Andraste preserve me, sometimes I don't even know if it's you or the Lyrium I want."

The inquisitor's voice is sympathetic when she speaks again. “Cullen please, I-“

Cullen cuts her off. He doesn't want her compassion for airing out such a shameful secret. "Don’t," he starts. “Just…leave me be.” He doesn’t even realise his hands find hair, or how his fingers shake. “Leave me be,” Cullen chokes again, not sure who he’s saying it to – Evelyn or the howl in his blood. He pulls at the roots of his hair as he tries desperately to silence that yearning, horrible thirst that is managing to destroy the one good thing he has in his life.

She says something else but it doesn’t seem to register. _Please stop, please just stop_. His eyes squeeze shut, his body shakes. All he can focus is the craving. It twists arounds in his stomach, burns through every muscle and bone. The only pain that’s ever been comparable was the torture the demons put him through so long ago. He didn’t think he could ever hurt like that again.

And then suddenly, her arms are around him and she’s embracing him entirely. Her hand slides into the fur of his overcoat; holding him close instead of pushing him away as he rightly deserves. Cullen shudders harder at the realisation. “Oh Cullen...”

At the sound of her voice so soft he comes undone.

Cullen’s legs can’t seem to support his body anymore and he buckles. Evelyn follows him to the cold stone of the war room. Her arm stays around him while her free hand presses into his hair; cradling him with the same care as she would a newborn babe. Cullen buries his face against the collar of her shirt and even through the fabric, he can smell the Lyrium. He inhales the scent, Lyrium and something floral he can’t place, and the hunger goes blessedly quiet for a single moment. 

Peace.

At last.

He's forgotten what it was like. 

Evelyn’s voice is still quiet, still gentle when she speaks at last. “I’m sorry,” she says, stroking his damp locks. “I’m so very sorry.”

Cullen sinks further down against her. A sob grates at the back of his throat at the shame of it all. He's sorry too. He's sorry for everything.

“Shhh,” she hums again, running her fingers through his damp locks as his own mother might have done so long ago. “It’s alright.” He wants to say something, anything. But anything he could say would be utterly inadequate.

So he clings to her as if it were his last act as a free man. Evelyn holds him through the trembles. He’s acutely aware of how small she is compared to his frame, yet she’s as solid as Skyhold’s walls. Her protective embrace is enough to chase the hunger away, settle his stomach, ease the pain from his body, soothe his frantic, panicked mind.

He’s not sure how long they stayed embraced on the floor. It could have been ten minutes, or an hour. Could have been three. He does not know, nor care. He only starts to care when Evelyn shifts beneath him with a faint sound of discomfort and he realises that his armour must have been digging hard into her.

Cullen raises his head away from her neck. His vision is blurred; the inquisitor just a haze of orange and grey. He finds himself quickly rubbing his face with his gloved palm. “S-sorry,” he says through a tight throat.

Evelyn’s eyes are bright and rimmed with red. “Are you alright?”

“Yes." His voice still trembles. “Forgive me. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Her hand cups against his cheek and he finds himself leaning into her familiar touch. “No. It’s me who should be apologising to you. Dorian said that I smelt different now…I didn’t even think stop to think how badly it would affect you. I'm sorry. I should have said no to Ser."

The guilt in her voice almost breaks him. “I…It’s not your fault. You’ve done what you’ve had to for the Inquisition,” Cullen says, a statement he’s repeated to himself when he was angry about her choice. He knows why she took up the training in the first place. The demons are getting stronger. The rifts are getting bigger. She’s afraid to lose people. She’s afraid to die. He has no right to take this out on her. It is not her fault he’s stopped taking Lyrium. That was his choice to make.

Evelyn strokes his cheekbone with her thumb. “Regardless, I should have been more careful with you Cullen. That was very selfish of me.”

"And I should have told you sooner instead of keeping it to myself,” Cullen states, trying to balm her own wounds. He almost bleeds at the thought that she saw herself so selfish, when he knows how much she has been willing to sacrifice for all of them.

The concern is still in her eyes as Evelyn gently retracts her hand to take his own in hers. He wishes he’d taken his gloves off so he could feel the warmth of her strong, capable hands. “Cullen, listen…I…Well you know how I feel about you. You mean everything to me."

Cullen nods, the feeling mutual. He can't imagine his life without her now.

She then sighs, and it’s a sad sound. Why is she so sad? "But I would understand if you’d rather not…”

Rather not what? Cullen remains silent as she thumbs over the thick leather of his gloves, tracing the stitching. His fingers twitch in response with the need to hold her. “What I'm trying to say is that I’d understand if you’d rather not…well, be with me right now.”

His stomach lurches, her statement catching him off guard. “What?”

Evelyn’s fingers stroke over his knuckles. He realises that she’s trembling. “I know how hard this is for you, and with me taking Lyrium now, it might be making things worse for you." Her voice seems to crack slightly as she speaks "And I can't ask you to put yourself in that sort of situation. So maybe…Maybe we shouldn't do this right now, us-”

Cullen realises the implication of her words and his heart presses against the base of his throat. “No!” It’s the second time that evening that he has interrupted his superior. Meredith’s Lyrium statue must be spinning in Kirkwall at his insolence.

The inquisitor is startled, and Cullen tries again as he grips her hands tightly. He’s never been good with matters of the heart, but he’ll try. How he’ll try for her. “No, I mean…Makers breath. I don’t want this to end because of the Lyrium." His former life had taken so much from him already. He would not let it take her as well. 

"Are you sure?"

The very thought of it - a life in which she is so close yet so far away again -  splits him to the bone. "I could not bear to let you go now."

"Neither could I," she replies with shaky breath. "Cullen, I don't think I could manage without you in my life."H

His fingers lace through hers. “We’ll get through it somehow,” he says, and means it. 

Evelyn's eyes are warm with quiet determination. “We will,” she replies before easing her hands out from his “Should probably start by getting up off this floor,” the Inquisitor states as she pushes up off the cold stones.

The Inquisitor is right but he still misses the contact of her hands. "Yes of course." Cullen follows her up, heaving himself onto legs that don’t seem to want to work for him.

Evelyn gives him another concerned look, her freckles wrinkling. “You look absolutely exhausted Cullen. Perhaps you should go and get some rest.”

He was; weary from fighting with himself all evening. But the thought of returning to his tower alone felt overwhelmingly impossible. The hunger has momentarily ebbed, but he’s still trembling under his armour. “I…I don’t know if I could."

“If you’d rather not be alone, stay with me tonight. I can even sleep on the couch if you’d prefer not to be…too close right now,” she adds. "Sera assures me it's comfy."

He’s touched by her consideration. He knows how much she loves that expansive, gilted bed. “It’s not as bad as it was earlier. I’ll be alright,” Cullen insists. “But I’d rather like to stay with you tonight regardless.”

"Whatever you need Cullen," she replies, taking his hand tenderly. 

Cullen’s not sure what he needs anymore but he squeezes her hand regardless. He’ll do anything to keep the hunger settled as long as he could. “It will cause quite the stir in the morning if I am seen leaving your quarters,” he remarks, trying to feel a little more normal.

“No more than it does when I’m seen leaving yours,” she replies teasingly. 

Leaving the war table as is, the inquisitor leads him back through to Josephine’s office (to which he thanks the Maker is already empty). Cullen knows the way to her quarters already but he is happy enough to simply hold her hand and let the inquisitor take him up to the privacy of her rooms. The hunger has settled slightly, but he feels drained and exhausted.

Her quarters smell as he imagined they would – like lightning. It has him shaking again, but the thirst settles when the inquisitor places her hands on his breastplate. Cullen can still smell the Lyrium on her, but he’s more focused on the freckles on her cheeks, the touch of her hands as she sets about working his armour off.

Once his armour is discarded and his sweat soaked clothes are tossed into a linen basket, the inquisitor bundles him into her bed. She even has the thought to get him a lighter blanket and kill the fire slightly because he’s still feverish to the touch. “Thank you,” he says as she drapes it over his waist. Already he feels more settled, the hunger a faint hum now. 

Her fingers card through his hair again before sliding down to rest against his cheek.“You’re welcome. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Cullen catches her hand and draws it against his chest. “Would you? –“ he doesn’t seem to know what he’s asking for, only that he does not wish to be alone.

But Evelyn seems to know exactly what he needs. “Are you sure?” she asks cautiously.

“Yes.”

The inquisitor sheds her own clothing – he’s almost disappointed with himself that he’s not in a better frame of mind to appreciate watching her wriggle out her fitted breeches– and slides into the bed next to him.

Immediately Cullen curls around her; turning on his side to draw her close as he'd done countless times before. Hips and stomaches and legs press together in a familiar way but there’s an absence of passion. He exhales, relaxing bonelessly into the mattress. This was a close to solace as he could remember.

Her arms come up against his back, fingers on his shoulder blades. “Is this alright?” she asks against his collar bone.

It’s better than alright. It’s wonderful. His nose presses into Evelyn’s ginger hair and he allows himself to take in the scent of her. The lyrium is still there, but it is diluted in favour of whatever scented water she puts through her hair. “Yes,” Cullen answers.

Her fingers stroke his back gently, easing the built up tension in his muscles. “Sleep love. You’ve had a long, hard day.”

The sound of her voice so soft and gentle, as if he was the only concern she had in the world, has him pressing his face into her hair again.

The hunger is silent. 


End file.
